


Ceiling

by blackstar



Series: 30 day writing challenge [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, Angst, Concerned Sheriff, Derek being supportive, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Stiles, Insomnia, Nogitsune Aftermath, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1968939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackstar/pseuds/blackstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nogitsune had changed everything.  </p><p>or </p><p>Stiles needs somebody to help him get back on his feet, even if he doesn't realize it yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ceiling

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5! 
> 
> You can play this while reading -> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTKnSbFBIh8

The Nogitsune had changed everything. It had swept away his life, killed people he cared about and ones others cared about; it had twisted every relationship the boy had ever had – with his dad, with his best friend and the pack; with Lydia, especially, even with his mother, while he was still inside his brain, rummaging through memories and feelings, buried deep inside. It had broken Scott’s heart twice, _twice,_ as if the strength the new alpha possessed wasn’t captured in the gentlest being Stiles had known, the most durable and caring friend he had called his brother. It had taken their friend away, the brave and beautiful and kind Allison, thrown her into the debris of death as if she wasn’t only 18. It had shattered so many lives, and Stiles didn’t feel he had the right to be more special than the others just because he had seen it all, felt it all in his fingers, and tasted it in his mouth.

The waves of despair were coming one after the other, stronger sometimes, sometimes almost disappearing, swallowed by the darkness and his weak voice, which wouldn’t give up the fight for the last strands of his sanity.

“ _Don’t ever take a single second to breathe_ ” he started, then hummed for a bit, missing bits and pieces of the lyrics, distracted by the moving shadows on the other wall. “ _I am alive, I’m just playing dead._ ” He continued singing, all melody drained from his always chipper tone of voice, while wondering if the shadows were the branches of trees outside being disturbed by a strong wind; or maybe it was the shadow of a monster coming through the window, opening it slowly. Sadly, he couldn’t think of anything, which could scare him enough to stand up, other than his own mind. The Nogitsune in his mind, of course, was worse, his brain supplied. It returning from its crumpled state – it was so old and so, _so_ powerful (Stiles could vividly remember the might he felt, crackling in his fingers, in his head, like electricity), Stiles doubted getting back to their world would be such a hardship. He was afraid of so much – of being possessed again, of feeling powerful and powerless together; of one of his friends being possessed and having to go through what he had, which was even more maddening a though, because then he would feel even more helpless. Or of nothing happening at all, of Scott keeping his distance (as he should, a small voice added bitterly) and trying to get himself together; of Lydia looking at him with that level stare she gave him lately, as if she wasn’t sure if she could even talk to him now, after they’d worked to make their relationship the easiest of friendships; his father, wary all the time, not falling asleep until the sunrise, always ready to run into his son’s room and calm his screams.

As if Stiles slept at all.

“ _They don't even have a soul left to be saved._ ” He hummed, the song on repeat, going again and again, while he was sitting on the floor, legs tight to his chest and arms around them. Mostly, while he was singing this line, he changed it to _I_ instead of _they_ ; sometimes, he forgot it was he who had no hope for his soul.

The moon was bright outside, not yet full but almost. Shadows continued dancing on the other wall, and Stiles ignored them. He continued listening to the same song again and again, humming and reciting lines when he felt like he would scream if he didn’t make a noise. It was late in the night, he was alone again, his only comfort found in music and the security solitude provided.

From the only window of the attic, while he was sitting on the roof, Derek watched Stiles fall apart again. He did nothing, as he was sure that was best for the both of them, the lone wolf and the broken boy.

\---

The days were both easier and harder on Stiles. He wasn’t exempt from school, which meant facing the results of the Nogitsune attack constantly. One of the girls in his class had lost her father in the attack in the hospital and one of the underclassmen – his older sister. Every time he saw them, guilt trickled down his spine, palpable like drops of icy water. There were Scott and Lydia, and Ethan before he moved, and Kira, which always threw him the most concerned of glances, as if wondering how to help.

He tried to mask his horror with humor on more than one occasion, but his sleep-deprived mind was too numb to give it too much thought, busy thinking of his loneliness, guilt and despair. His jokes, not funny most of the time, died out before they were finished.

Classes were a bitch when you couldn’t concentrate on anything even more than the usual, and his teachers weren’t making this any easier, insisting on how the end of the semester meant everyone must be on their best behavior, or else. Grades were discussed non-stop as if they mattered to anyone, as if they would change their future.

Senior year was coming. A prom was being organized. He couldn’t care less.

A couple of times he saw Derek’s car parked outside the gates of the high school. That always chocked a laugh out of him – that creeper, still giving his all to protect what’s left of his pack. Now that Isaac was not around, Stiles wondered who kept Derek company. Maybe they’d patched things up with Peter… but that was unlikely. It was easier to imagine Derek was as alone as he was, and was seeking comfort in the well-being of his teenagers. Looking for ways, in which to help his alpha recover.

\---

The first day after his father had told Stiles he can’t drive to school because he was “obviously in no condition to operate a vehicle, when was the last time you really slept, Stiles?”, Stiles walked home. He didn’t live close and with the shortcuts he used, it took him a little under an hour to get from the school gates to his lawn. He didn’t do much else that day. Neither did he sleep a lot the night, too afraid of his own mind, when it reached the dream period of his sleep, which made him leave an alarm clock on to keep him asleep for no more than an hour at a time.

The second day he had to walk home, he didn’t. Derek was waiting for him near the gate, hands falling awkwardly around his body, because he had no pockets of a leather jacket in which to push them.

“Need a lift?” he had asked, gingerly, as if he and Stiles hadn’t seen the best and worst of each other already. Stiles didn’t answer, just jerked his head in something close to a nod. Derek had led him to his car, parked on the next street, and had driven him home, all the while the two didn’t mutter a single word. When he got out of the car, Stiles lingered a second before closing it and finally said a low

“Thanks, Derek.” without looking straight at the werewolf. He felt, deep in his bones, that he didn’t need to pretend in front of Derek. He didn’t need to put on a brave or a funny face, he didn’t have to lower his head for him.

“Anytime, Stiles.” Derek answered, punctuating his name, maybe actively trying to remind him – Derek knew who Stiles was.

Stiles smiled without forcing it for the first time since he woke up that night, the night Allison and Aiden had died. That memory quickly erased the smile, though.

\---

This went on in the next weeks, the weeks leading up to the end of the school year. Derek would wait in his car in that spot Stiles started referring to, in his mind, as theirs, or came to wait for him by the gates and took him to the car, if the spot was taken. A couple of times Scott came with them and then stayed after, played video games with them; it was easier. Because that’s what they – he and Derek, had started doing since 3 days after the first one – Derek would leave his car next to the Jeep and the two of them would spend 4 or 5 hours mindlessly playing on his xbox.

They didn’t talk much, but there was a certain lightness that he lacked in all other relationships currently. On that third day, Stiles had asked Derek what he did in his days and Derek had shrugged and after a half minute had added, as an afterthought:

“I read, I work on the loft, I play.”

“Play what?” Stiles had perked up.

“Whatever I find, to be honest. First person shooters and MMOs and strategies, I’ve been mixing them all up.” Stiles had laughed then, out-loud, which had made Derek look at him in a strange, shocked-and-amazed way, before smiling at him. Stiles had asked if he wanted to play with him and they’d ended up playing into the night, stopping only for dinner with Stiles’ dad, who tried to seem highly unimpressed with this development, and had failed miserably, asking too many questions and looking slightly too happy for a man, who had been at work as the town’s Sheriff the whole day.

Stiles’ friendship with Derek was in more than one way new and it was a nice distraction for his days. And some nights, his eyes would hurt too much from staring at the monitor and he would give himself up to sleep for more than an hour at a time, because alarms couldn’t quite wake him. Sometimes he was rewarded with no recollection of his dreams, and sometimes not - sometimes waking up as he had before – screaming and fighting his blanket, the air and most of all, his imaginary monsters. Some nights he still tried to keep sleep at bay, up in his attic, listening to the same song over and over again and singing to himself, looking up at the sky even when it was completely dark. He still wondered about the moving shadows. He still felt detached and guilt was still eating through his system. He couldn’t shake the pain off; every time a happy moment came he felt drowned by the intensity of the bad memories, which came to remind him why he shouldn’t be smiling right now.

One of the nights he had chosen to spend in the attic, listening to his song, singing in staying away from nightmares, he failed. He felt himself fall into a deep slumber but by the time he realized it, it was too late to move, he was too far in. That night wasn’t one of the blessedly blank ones, it was filled with memories and horrific monsters. He dreamt of standing in the middle of a field, amongst a sea of dead bodies. He dreamt of his hands, more fingers than there should have been, drenched in blood, in the blood of his friends and loved ones. He dreamt of a smile blooming on his face, not his but the spirit’s.

“Stiles, Stiles, wake up.” He awoke to the gentle whispers of Derek, whose arms he was in and jumped a little, scared that he was still dreaming. His phone was still humming out the song and the single window of his attic was open. He felt shivers running up and down his spine.

“What are you doing here?” his voice sounded rough, as if he had screamed himself awake. He stirred in Derek’s hands “Did I wake my dad?”

“No, don’t worry. I… came in before you had the chance. You looked like you weren’t having a nice time in your dream.” Derek smiled a bit, as if he was aiming at a joke, but the laugh that came out of Stiles’ throat was short and ugly, a hurt sound from a broken person. As if Derek had read his mind, he squeezed him harder in his grip and continued “You’re going to be okay, Stiles. I promise.”

Stiles was about to retort – how did Derek know what it felt like, to know he’d killed… and then he stopped himself.

“How did you… recover? After?” after losing all these people, after without a doubt blaming himself for their death and their pain, because this was Derek. He just smiled at Stiles’ awkward expression and pulled him even further into himself, so that Stiles’ head was lying on Derek’s lap, Derek’s hand framing Stiles’ torso.

“Slowly. So very slowly. I had my sister, Laura, there, and she tried her best but she was just two years older than me, what did she know.” He let out a soft, fond laugh. “We somehow managed to keep each other almost sane, enough to function and start to heal.”

“And then?” Stiles prompted, his voice barely a whisper.

“And then she… she was gone and it was the same thing all over again, except I had no one to lean on.” He paused. “Stiles, you have people to lean on. You should use that to your advantage. I know you don’t want to let yourself heal but… I also know you need to. I know more than anyone else, Stiles, believe me.” Derek’s stare was intense and Stiles just now noticed he could read Derek’s face so well because the lamp was on. He never turned the lamp on himself, it must have been Derek. Seconds passed and neither said anything, the two only looking at each other.

“God, this song is depressing.” Derek muttered after a while and outstretched his hand to grab Stiles’ charging phone. He pressed the home button and then stopped the song. “Silence is less depressing than that song.” Stiles laughed quietly. He leaned on Derek more heavily.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it, sorry about the abrupt ending but... it felt like an ending to me. 
> 
> I made myself sad with this one. The song is the one from the upper notes - Northern lights by 30 seconds to mars. 
> 
> As always, I urge you to talk to me in the comments, if you feel like it! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit: ok, so it was pointed out to me that there's nothing about a ceiling in this fic and upon further inspection that is correct and I am truly laughing my ass off right now, because I was so proud of it too. Let's say it was a metaphor. Okay? Thanks. :D


End file.
